Read Online There Was an Old Woman by Ellery Queen - Free Book Online Page A

empty. He stole towards the rear, listened for voices at the study door, nodded, and made his way in noiseless leaps up the staircase.
    Several minutes later he knocked on the twins’ door. It opened immediately.
    â€œWell?” asked the Potts twins in one voice. They were nervous: cigaret butts littered the trays, and a bottle of Scotch had been, if not precisely killed, then at least criminally assaulted.
    â€œThe deed is done,” announced Mr. Queen, “the Colt and its blank are back on Thurlow’s highboy, and here’s your Smith & Wesson, Bob.”
    â€œYou’re sure the damned thing won’t kill anybody?”
    â€œQuite sure, Bob.”
    Robert placed it gingerly on the night table between his bed and Mac’s.
    â€œThen nothing can go wrong tomorrow morning?” growled Mac.
    â€œOh, come. You’re acting like a couple of children. Of course nothing can go wrong!”
    Ellery left the twins and cheerily went downstairs to the library. To his surprise, he found Thurlow in a mood more mellow than melancholy.
    â€œHi,” said Thurlow, describing a parabola with his left hand. His right was clasped about a frosty glass. “My second, ladies ’n’ gentlemen. Can’t have a duel without a second. Come in, Misser Queen. We were just discussing the possibility of continuing our conversation in more con-congenial surroundings. Know what I mean?” And Thurlow leered cherubically.
    â€œI know exactly what you mean, Mr. Potts,” smiled Ellery. Perhaps Thurlow in his cups might prove a saner man than Thurlow sober. He nodded slightly to Sheila and Paxton, who looked exhausted. “A hot spot, eh, kid?”
    â€œHot spot ’tis,” beamed Thurlow. “Tha’s my second, ladies ’n’ gentlemen. Won’erful character.” And Thurlow linked his arms in Ellery’s, marching him out of the library to the tune of a rueful psalm which went: “Eat, drink, an’ be merry, for tomorrow I’ll be glad when you’re dead, you rascal youuuuu . . .”
    Thurlow insisted on Club Bongo. All their arguments could not dissuade him. Ellery could only hope fervently that Mr. Conklin Cliffstatter, of the East Shore jute and shoddy Cliffstatters, was getting drunk elsewhere this night. In the cab on their way downtown, Thurlow fell innocently asleep on Ellery’s shoulder.
    â€œThis seems kind of silly,” giggled Charley Paxton.
    â€œIt is not, Charley!” whispered Sheila. “Maybe we can get him into such a good mood he’ll call the duel off.”
    â€œHush. Uneasy lies the head.” And indeed at that moment Thurlow awoke with a whoop and took up his dolorous psalm.
    Mr. Queen, Miss Potts, her eldest brother, and Mr. Paxton spent the night at Club Bongo, keeping its death watch with the curious characters who seemed to find its prancing maidens and tense comedians the most hilarious of companions.
    Fortunately, Mr. Cliffstatter was not among them.
    Mr. Queen was his suavest and most persuasive; he inserted little melodies of reasonableness into the chit-chat; he suggested frequent libations at the flowing bowl.
    But all his efforts, and Sheila’s, and Charley’s, availed nothing. At a certain point, diabolically, Thurlow stopped imbibing; and to all suggestions that he call off the duel and make a peace with Bob, he would smile sadly, say, “Punctilio is involved, my good frien’s,” and applaud the première danseuse enthusiastically.

7 . . . Pistols at Dawn
    They got back to the Potts grounds on the drive at a quarter of six. The dawn was dripping and jellyfish-gray, not cheerful. The thing was beyond reason, but there it was. A duel was to be fought in this clammy dawn, with pistols, on a sward, and with trees as sentinels.
    The three were exhausted; but not baggy-pantsed, tweed-coated Thurlow. He egged them on in his high-pitched voice, made higher than ordinary by a sort of